The Whore's Whelp
by RedJeyne
Summary: Oberyn arrives to retrieve his bastard daughter.


Myria Flowers was nearly six years old when he came for her. He was a young man, tall and dark and dangerous looking. He had looked down at her and smiled, but her mother had yelled at her and sent her away before she could ask him who he was. She didn't go far, though. This man was different from the men who usually visited her mother, and she was curious. So she only went as far as the next room, and there she hid by the doorway, listening.

"I assume you got my raven." The man said. He sounded calm, amused even, which seemed impossible. There was nothing in the whole world half so scary as mother when she was angry, and her rage at this man was obvious.

"And I assume you got my reply." She snapped. Myria couldn't see her, but she could picture her face, twisted with fury and turning bright red. It was a face she had seen often enough.

"The bird must have gotten lost on the way." He said, with a note of indifference in his voice.

"You can't have her." Mother snarled. "What makes you think she's even yours? Do you think you're the only man I had in that time? There are a thousand men who could be her father." Were they talking about her?

"Of course she's mine." He scoffed. 'You've been telling every whore in Oldtown she is. Bragging that your bastard has a Prince of Dorne for a father."

"I… Who told you? How did you find out?"

"I have friends in Oldtown still. One of them was kind enough to inform me." Myria could hear the smirk in his voice. "I thank you for caring for her up until this point, but now I'm here to take her home." Home?

"This _is _her home, you ass!" Mother said. "So what if I said you were her father, that doesn't make it true! Find me a bastard in this city that doesn't have nobleman for a father! I won't let you taker her from me!"

"As if you could stop me." He scoffed. "I'm trying to be reasonable, woman. If you don't let me have her, you'll regret it."

"Don't you _dare _threaten me!" Mother was raising her voice. "Get out! You get the fuck out of here right now!"

"No. Give her to me."

There was a sound of a scuffle of some sort after that, and Myria heard her mother cry out in rage. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she peeked out of the doorway. The man had her mother's arm twisted up her back, and he looked somewhat amused with the whole situation.

"Let me go!" Mother cried, her voice choked with anger.

"Once you've calmed down." He sounded like he was scolding a small child. Then he spotted her, and his face broke into a wide grin. "Girl!" He called. "Come here."

"Myria?" Her mother's back was to her, but she could hear the fear in her voice. "I sent you away! Get out of here, keep away from him!"

Myria paused, unsure of what to do. Mother seemed scared of this man, and that meant she probably should be, too. But she was curious. No one had ever wanted to see her before, and he smiled at her. She hadn't really understood everything that they had been saying, but he had wanted to talk to her. After a moment's hesitation, she walked towards them. The man immediately released her mother and pushed her aside, going down to one knee so he was eye level with Myria.

"… Hello." Myria said, after he went a while without saying anything. She examined his face for a moment before her eyes were drawn to something much more interesting – the large spear he had strapped to his back.

"Hello, girl." He was looking her directly in the eyes, and it made Myria a bit uncomfortable. Mother was staring in horror. "Do you know who I am?"

She shook her head. She had been trying to guess from what her mother had been saying to him, but she still couldn't be sure.

"I'm your father." He said it with a smile, like that fact made him the happiest man in the whole world.

Myria frowned. She didn't have a father. That's why she was a bastard. That's why she was named Flowers. But sometimes when mother drank too much wine she would tell Myria that she _did _have a father, she remembered. She thought back to what she had overheard. "A prince." She said, and he raised an eyebrow at that. "Mother said I had a father and that he was a prince, but everyone says she's a liar. Are you?"

He laughed, which confused her. It had been a serious question. "That's right, girl, I'm a prince. Prince Oberyn, of Dorne. Your mother spoke true, though she denies it now." He shot her mother a look before looking back at Myria.

"What does it matter who her father is?" Mother snapped. She seemed to have regained her sense slightly. "She is my daughter, and you will leave her alone!"

"I won't." He didn't even look up at her this time. He kept his eyes on Myria's face. "What makes you think she even wants me to leave her alone, anyway?"

"Shut your mouth."

"Why not let her decide, hmm?" He smiled at Myria, who just stared back at him. When mother didn't answer, he turned and smirked up at her. "You don't like that idea, do you? Because why would she want to stay with you? Do you think she wants to grow up to be just another whore?"

"Why would she want to go with _you_?" Mother sounded like she was on the verge of tears. She stepped towards them and grabbed Myria by the wrist, pulling her away from him. "Fine, let her choose! But you have nothing to offer her!" She was gripping Myria's wrist too tightly, and it was starting to hurt. "She's just a girl, and she belongs with me."

Oberyn – her father – stood up slowly. He looked annoyed that mother had pulled Myria away from him. "Girl or boy, we fight our battles," he said, "but the gods let us choose our weapons. So…." He moved quickly, hitting mother across the face with the back of his hand. The sound seemed to echo in the room and made Myria wince. Mother released Myria and let out a low sob, stumbling back. "Here is the weapon your mother offers you. Tears." He said the word with a sneer. And, indeed, there were tears streaming down mother's face. "And here is what I offer you." He pulled the spear off his back and threw it to the floor at Myria's feet. The tip buried itself in the wood planks and it stood like that, quivering slightly. "Now choose." Her father said. "Choose which weapon you wish to claim as your own."

"Myria…" Her mother spoke, trying to choke back the sobs. It was no use, of course. Myria knew that once her mother started crying it took a very long time for her to stop. "Myria, don't listen to him. Please, stay with you mothr…"

Myria looked between her mother's tear streaked face and the spear. She turned slowly towards her, mother, whose face lit up. But as she looked at her, Myria remembered. She remembered all the times, all the countless times her mother had cried. All the times she had drank until she stopped crying. All the times her mother had made her cry with harsh words or a sudden slap. Biting her lip, she turned away and grasped the spear in front of her firmly. She didn't want to cry.

"I told you she was mine." Oberyn said triumphantly. When he saw that Myria was having difficulty pulling the spear out of the floor, he stepped forward and picked up both Myria and the spear, smiling.

"No!" Mother sobbed. "No, don't take her from me. Please, please, she's all I have, don't take her. Myria, don't leave mama, please, I love you, please…" Myria didn't even look at her. She was too busy looking at the spear that Oberyn had reattached to his back. He turned and walked briskly out of the building without saying another word to mother. As they walked down the street, Myria heard her mother's sobs fade off into the distance. It only occurred to her later that that would be the last time she ever heard her mother.

"Myria." Oberyn stopped walking suddenly, and put her down.

"Yes?" She looked up at him.

"Is that what she named you?"

"Yes." She nodded. "Myria Flowers."

"I don't like it." He shook his head, scowling slightly. "You'll need a better name, I think."

"Like what?"

"Obara." He said instantly.

"Obara?" She repeated, sounding it out.

"Yes, Obara. Obara Sand, since you'll be living in Dorne now. Doesn't that sound better?"

She considered it for a moment. Myria Flowers used to cry all the time, just like her mother. Maybe it would be nice to be someone else. "Obara Sand." She nodded. Her father smiled at that, and took her by the hand, leading her down the cobbled streets of Oldtown, the last time she would ever see them.


End file.
